A Manipulation of Violets
by little dark starling
Summary: Episode tag for 6.16. Jane's thoughts after Lisbon and Pike depart for their pancake date. One-shot.


**AN: This is my first foray into the world of Mentalist fanfics, but I just loved this episode so much I had to write a tag. I found the end incredibly sad, but couldn't help thinking that Jane knew what was going to happen with Lisbon and Pike the whole time…**

**Disclaimer: I do not own The Mentalist.**

He leant back against the cool, smooth leather of the sofa, its familiar embrace a strange comfort as he listened to the retreating footsteps echo their way down the corridor to the elevator. Reaching up to unwind the scarf from around his neck, he closed his eyes and gave an audible sigh into the now silent room. Lisbon had looked radiant, basking in Pike's obvious admiration of her as she shrugged into her jacket, swept her luxurious hair from her neck, that now all-too-rare smile lighting up her whole face. How he had missed seeing that smile, the outward expression of genuine pleasure now emerging at the presence of a man sensible enough to recognise the true wonder that was Teresa Lisbon.

He thought back to earlier in the week, when he had watched Lisbon first entering the bullpen to find agent Marcus Pike from the FBI Art Squad beginning his briefing on the art thieves responsible for the homicide of John Hennigan. The physical attraction between them had been immediately apparent, to Jane at least, and he had observed with building curiosity, and not a small pang of something that might have been described as pain, their increasing frequency of eye contact and bantering verbal exchange. Then, as the three of them explored the Art Squad's storage space for recovered artefacts, their conversation had evolved further, a deeper, dare he describe it as husky, quality emerging in her voice as she leant closer to hear about the provenance and purpose of the art pieces.

In coming up with his plan to entrap the art thieves, therefore, he had been struck by the opportunity to simultaneously provide Lisbon with the chance to experience some light-hearted glamour, to build on the obvious boost her self-esteem had been given by the appearance of Pike. Her acting had come a long way from their early days in California, and while by no means perfect, he grinned to himself, he had known she could pull off her part in the ensuing charade convincingly. And she had. He would be lying should he deny the thrill of pleasure running through him every time his eyes encountered the vision of her figure in that dress, every time she had found reason to touch him. He had been surprised by the ease with which he had found himself enjoying the moments of more intimate physical connection between them. It had made his manipulation of the situation with Pike somewhat bittersweet, perhaps, but he consoled himself with the idea of her happiness in Pike's attentions.

Marcus Pike was the kind of decent, uncomplicated man, unfettered by emotional scars, who could give a woman the happiness she deserved. No, he hadn't made a mistake. Lisbon deserved more than to be trapped in the stagnant bond he increasingly saw them to be in. He twisted the gold band still adorning his ring finger, thinking back to his conversation with Sylvia Hennigan. He hadn't been lying, not entirely. Avenging his wife's murder hadn't done anything to diminish his memories of Angela, as he'd been half afraid it might do. He could still see her, speak to her, hear her responses even. And yet… it wasn't nearly enough, as he knew it could never be. He was stuck, trapped, a half-man, unable to heal himself, unable to give himself fully to someone else, not even if that someone else was Lisbon. Especially Lisbon. Teresa deserved to be loved without reservation, he thought humourlessly, without pain, without the weight of a love like mine.

Maybe this thing with Pike wouldn't last the long term, but it would be a step in the right direction toward showing her that her potential to inspire the affection and love of others was alive and well; she could have the world if she wanted it. He knew that she thought she was in love with him, had thought as much for far too long. He felt again, with tender reminiscence, her gentle hands as they had drawn the blanket up over him, as he lay pretending to sleep on the sofa in the party house. He had been sorely tempted to open his eyes, sit up, and pull her into the passionate embrace he knew she would reciprocate, bring to life the charade they had been enacting in pursuit of his plan. Instead, difficult as it had proved to be, he had remained motionless, letting her return upstairs alone and, he was sure, call Pike. Throughout their performance, he had felt the tug of distraction that had served to give her eyes an even greater brightness, her movements an added touch of unconscious grace.

Yes, putting Lisbon in a position to realise her feminine influence on a man like Marcus Pike had been the right thing to do. While he had coerced MacKaye into making decisions which ultimately led to his own undoing, so too had his larger plan given Lisbon the opportunity to free herself, to see the possibilities inherent in a life beyond him. He had no right to command her full allegiance, as much as he might wish to, not when he couldn't give back equally in return. Most of all, he just wanted to see her happy, and if watching her walk away into the sunset with another man was the means of achieving this goal, then so be it.

He reclined his body slowly until he lay prone along the sofa's length. Rolling on to his side and drawing his knees up, his last thoughts before drifting off to sleep, were of a sweeping curtain of dark hair, a sparkling pair of bewitching green eyes, and a smile, free of all care in the world.

**AN: I'm not sure I managed to get it across quite as I wanted, but would love to know what you think all the same.**


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